365Caws is now in its 14th year of publication, and was originally intended to end after 365 days. It has sometimes been difficult for me to find new material, particularly during the winter months, but now as I enter my own twilight years, I cannot guarantee that I will be able to provide daily posts. It is my hope that along the way I may have inspired someone to a greater curiosity about the natural world. If so, I can rest, content in the knowledge that my work here has been done.
Friday, January 31, 2020
Author Unknown
Day 110: Well, this is a little embarrassing. However, when I stand back and really look at it, it's also hilarious.
While out on a four-mile walk on the relatively new and extraordinarily ugly levee trail in Orting yesterday, I was searching for anything noteworthy for my daily posts. I thought I'd struck paydirt when I found a script lichen unlike anything I'd seen before, multiple examples of it occurring on several young Red Alders on the bank of the Puyallup River. I could not remove a sample without damaging the bark. Nor did I have a hand lens, so I took close-up photos of several different examples and conducted a visual analysis with my nose to the tree. The lirellae (the type of apothecia unique to the scripts) seemed to be incised into the bark rather than rising above it. I knew that some species have lirellae which lie beneath the bark surface, so I was sure that would narrow the field when I began searching for an ID. I kept thinking, "They look like dirty thumbprints in wet paint...how very odd!" and reviewing my eidetic memory files, I couldn't recall having seen anything with that morphology in either Brodo or McCune. A diligent page-by-page search of both field guides confirmed my fears: this one was going to be problematic. In the end, I gave up and for the first time in well over a year, sent photos off to lichenologist extraordinaire Katherine Glew, explaining that "I just can't make this one fit in anywhere." I had a note back from her in my morning email clarifying the authorship of the unusual script: "This looks like grazing by a snail or slug."
Live and learn. I do not get to add another lichen to my Life List, but at least now I will be able to recognize the marks of snail teeth. Whodathunkit?
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